A Warden, Commander and Inquisitor Walk Into a Tavern
by lil kyuubi
Summary: Cullen and F. Trevelyan escape to Honnleath to evade their political duties. During their travels, Cullen stumbles upon the Hero of Fereldan. Before the Inquisition, before Kirkwall, Cullen remembers a time when he was once just a Templar saddled with a burgeoning Mage in a crumbling Circle.
1. The Commander Roams

**Authors notes:** I love Cullen so much (but not as much as Alistair... NEVER, no matter how hot they make him) so I couldn't help but write this short one-shot (which I will divide into 2 because I like being confusing). This is just a short little reunion between Cullen and the Amell mage he was infatuated with while working at the Circle. Trevelyan will also make an appearance. :) This would take place shortly after the end of Inquisition.

**Warnings**: SPOILERS FOR INQUISITION... And I guess, all the other DA games, but I'm sure you've already finished them if you're reading Cullen Fic. I might swear from time to time? Aside from that R&R and enjoy!

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><p>The Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition promised themselves some time alone, away from their tongue-twisting titles and strenuous responsibilities at Skyhold. Cullen proposed a slow, drawn out trip to the Free Marches to visit Trevelyan's remaining family, but Lucretia insisted otherwise. She was eager to sample something simpler, a place where neither of their faces would be recognised. Though Honnleath had blossomed into a thriving village since its destruction during the Blight, he couldn't find fault with her reasoning to visit his old hometown. No one there would have cause to know their faces.<p>

Grander than he remembered as a boy – with ample, bustling taverns, a rebuilt Town Hall, rows of newly erected houses and shops – Cullen still felt that surge of nostalgic bliss as he passed old, familiar trees, gnarled and twisted with age, and saw the that the little pavilion of grass that marked the centre of the town was well maintained and filled with playing children.

It was evening, and lazy streams of violet and red sunlight poured through holes in husky clouds. Tiny bugs buzzed in the humid breeze, collecting around lamps arbitrarily lit beside houses and along the streets. In his hazy recollections, Cullen's memories of Honnleath were marked by similar sights, smells and sounds. In many ways he was glad Lucretia made the suggestion, though she wasn't here to share the experience.

The Saviour of Thedas was late. The pair docked at a neighbouring village not far from Honnleath, and as fate would have it, were recognised instantly by former Skyhold residents who pleaded with Lucretia to suggest strategies to combat the increasing number of highway bandits. She could never refuse such earnest requests he knew, so they promised to meet for drinks after dark after she finished with her anointed duties. Cullen arrived a few hours early to wade through his nostalgic trip a little longer.

The tavern he chose was central – large, bustling and filled with boisterous shouts and grinning, drunk faces. Dodging gesturing hands and squeezing past crowded tables, Cullen gradually felt more at ease. Dozens of unfamiliar faces glanced up at his and not one flickered with the gleam of recognition. No one cared who he was.

Towards the back, where the din of laughter and chatter was quietest, Cullen eased himself into four-seat table and ordered a pint of ale and a glass of 'Oghren's Special Brew' – a drink named in tribute of the Dwarf that helped rid Honnleath of its Darkspawn invaders – from a passing, fair-haired waitress with a round face and ridiculous breasts. She gave him a coy simper and returned moments later, much to the disappointment of a few dull-eyed, weary customers who clearly had been waiting to be served long before him.

Giddy and perhaps a little anxious resuming such a normal role in society, Cullen drank fast, making quick work of his ale though this tavern's 'Special Brew' felt like hot coals down his throat. On his first sip he sputtered and tried to suppress the warm tears that sprung to his eyes. The second half of the cup went down easier, and Cullen smiled at the conversant alcoholic warmth that spread through his limbs and lagged his vision. When the time came to order a second round – under the misguided pretense that Lucretia would be arriving shortly – he asked the barmaid for another of the same. This time, he couldn't help but stare at the woman's heaving bosom, which swayed and shuddered as she turned to address him, that same smile etched across her lips.

"F'er you my dear, anything—maybe a little extra aft'r werk. I get off in'a few."

Cullen felt his ears flush and burn, and he stumbled with apologies, polite refusals and mentions of his partner, all while trying to find _somewhere _to look that wasn't infested by her chest. In the end he chose his feet and spoke to them quietly, hoping he conveyed the right message. She laughed good-naturedly and returned with his drinks though she made him wait longer this time round.

In the aching aftermath of embarrassment that followed the exchange, Cullen started on Oghren's Brew before the ale, taking constant, timid sips while he gazed round the tavern, taking in the low, uneven ceiling and myriad of unknown faces, anything to take his mind off his social ineptitude. As he listened to snippets of conversation concerning the bedding chambermaids, paying taxes, the benefits of having a new Divine, he wondered if he would ever become that type of person; whether his softening duties would inspire more episodes like this, drinking casually in some gaudy tavern, discussing senseless, meaningless things with his colleagues. Wicked Grace was still a monthly occurrence at Skyhold – though he refused Josephine the role of dealer on numerous occasions – but with a host of friends who had grown with the Inquisition, their conversations never took such a lax stance. They were too involved with Thedas' political plights to entirely relax like the common folk.

_Except Sera, _he thought with a wry smile, which swiftly morphed into a grimace as he polished off the remainder of his drink. _She would be quite at home in this environment. _

Before long Cullen's thoughts became muddled, his insecurities veiled by alcoholic nonchalance. At times he wondered how long Lucretia would be, yet his qualms were expeditiously replaced by light-hearted internal monologues, and episodes listening in on the town's gossip. Occasionally the barmaid would waddle by, the rhythmic sway of her hips a pleasant distraction to the host of male voices barraging across the tavern.

"She could slay an Archdemon with that bosom of hers," someone behind him said.

Cullen giggled despite himself and reached for the ale, pulling it towards his chest.

"I do believe you're right, Lucretia." He shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, trying his best to address his love to no avail. "I'm sorry, I'm fenced in. Did you have any trouble finding your—"

_Way? House? Darkspawn? Demon? Lyrium? _At that moment words eluded Cullen as readily as manners do a Fereldan whore. Breathing became difficult, so he didn't and merely stared through the haze and uncertainty of his early drunkenness, trying desperately to make sense of the face before him.

Eleni Amell offered her best toothy grin and with a tender hand, touched his face. They were cold, yet soft and they stopped him from shaking.

"Hello, Cullen."


	2. History Collides

**Author's notes:** I lied again. Three parts. I didn't realise I would want to write so much! This is just a quick flashback to DA:O, which is pretty much lifted from the in-game conversation you have with Cullen. I always loved watching him sprint out of the room when Amell gets a bit frisky.

**Warnings:** **SPOILERS** FOR **INQUISITION**... and all the other **DA** games

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><p>"I'm glad your, er, Harrowing went smoothly… I would have felt terrible if I had to strike you down."<p>

_That didn't come out right, did it? _He was a nervous wreck back then, all sweating palms and jittery laughter. Eleni was always calm. Even after her Harrowing, which had been an uncommonly long ordeal, she approached him with her typical grin and chuckled at his fragmented attempt at conversation.

"Hello, Cullen. Are you alright? You're stammering."

"What? I-I'm fine."

_If you can consider sweating profusely in a suit of heavy armour on the coldest day of the month fine, that is. _

"I'm just glad you're alright… you know?"

"Thank you," she said and beamed at him, however, he could see how tired the Harrowing left her. After observing Eleni for so long it became second nature to read her tells and guess her veiled thoughts. The way she pushed the damp strands of golden hair from her eyes, and the subtle twitch of her upper-lip as she forced her trademark grin all alerted him to the fact that something left her weary.

"I, er—" The words died on Cullen's lips as Senior Enchanter Sweeney and his apprentice sauntered towards the library, muttering a greeting and congratulations as they passed. He bowed his head solemnly and turned to Eleni, who he found had been studying his face all the while. She looked… curious.

"Umm, so—"

"Would you like to continue this conversation…elsewhere?"

"Elsewhere?" he gave a confused chuckle and looked down the vacant, winding halls of the tower. "What do you mean, _elsewhere_?"

"We should get to know each other better," she replied without missing a beat, her eyes burrowing into his without a glimmer of embarrassment.

"Oh, my goodness. If you're saying… what I think… that would be really inappropriate… and I couldn't.

Eleni looked ready to say something, but during those fleeting seconds Cullen was unable to read her expression, or hear anything over the roar of his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. He felt sick and excitement knot in his gut. The floor shifted and he was certain he might collapse.

_Marker's Breath, I'm going to hurl mutton stew all over her. _

"I-I should go," he said before running – like a bat out of hell – towards the Templar dorms. Unfortunately he never made it so far, and threw up in Owain's storage room over a pair of tattered books on Alchemy, and empty phylactery.

When he mustered the courage to confront her, to discuss this overwhelming proposition as an adult, she had already left with a tall Grey Warden in Silverite armour.

* * *

><p><em>"Please, Cullen, let me help you—"<em>

_"Filthy, vile creature—get out of my head. Leave me!"_

_"Cullen, it's me—"_

_"Shade or not, you disgust me. Abominations, all of you! To think that once I…I…"_


	3. The Warden Revists

**Author's notes:** Meh. I'm just going to write until I am finished. (^_^) So second part of the drinking session - the Hero of Fereldan and Commander of the Inquisition skirt around the memories of their past. Random sentences and dialogue in _italics _are for flashbacks/memories._  
><em>

**Warnings:** **SPOILERS** FOR **INQUISITION**... and all the other **DA** games

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><p>"Your hair," she giggled, reaching up and threading her fingers through the waves atop his head; icy tips jolting him back to reality, "it's so long and <em>light, <em>almost as blonde as mine, too." She released his hair and begun to tug at her own, pensively examining the colour in the dim light. Eleni was fairer than he remembered. So was he.

"Maker…I."

She arranged herself in the seat in front of him and cupped her face in her hands. Another smile.

"No, no Maker here. Just me. Eleni."

"Eleni…" he repeated and she gave a long, deep laugh. Her eyes squinted the same way as they did back then, disappearing into thin, elegant lash-lines framed by crow's feet.

"You've got it."

"I'm at a loss for words."

"That's nothing new. You were never the most articulate Templar in the tower."

Cullen was ready to defend himself, but his tightening face relaxed at the sight of her playful simper.

"That's not fair," he said softly, "my circumstances were… difficult."

"Yeah, I suppose they were—umm, excuse me miss, one Oghren, please," she asked Madam Bountiful Breasts as she passed. Though said woman responded cordially, there was a venomous gleam in her eye as she went. Cullen had half a mind to warn her against drinking what she was given. Eleni had clearly considered the same danger.

"_Ooof_. Scary. You always were a popular one."

"It's hardly like that," he protested. A deep blush filled his cheeks and crept down his neck. _We should get to know each other._ Cullen was eager to evade what was still a sensitive subject: sex and women.

"No, no it's true… it was true at the Circle, it is true now. Rumour has it that you and the Inquisitor are—"

"_So_," he growled, unwilling to pander to her curious nature, "what brings the Hero of Fereldan this far south?" He took of swig of his ale, which Eleni plucked from his hands before he could return it to the table. Heavy lidded eyes watched him over the rim of the cup with a humorous glint. His heart fluttered as she smacked her wet lips.

"It's not my first time here."

"Ah yes, of course. You've been to Honnleath before."

"During the thick of the Blight, yes." She gestured round the room with a twirl of her finger, at the shouting crowds and trembling tavern. "Unrecognizable. You wouldn't have thought there were once bodies strewn across the highway... corpses baking in the midday heat."

He flinched at the bluntness of her words, taken back by the sullen tone juxtaposed to her jovial, warm face. What hardness could be found flitted across her gaze in an instant, and disappeared at her command. However, there was no doubting that the topic hit a nerve.

"Amazing what ten years can do."

"It's not just the _time_, Eleni." Cullen reached out to touch her hand, but withdrew from the gesture before it could become one. "_You _and your companions are the reason these people have _had_ ten years to rebuild."

She considered his comment in silence. Lip quivering as her eyes shuffled from the grooves on the table to a quarreling couple three tables down, she looked more uncertain than he recalled. Curled over the table, her narrow shoulders hung down like twisted branches. She appeared small and harmless. Fragile. He reconsidered his earlier notion and took her hand, urging her to meet his gaze. Even after all these years, her sorrow spurred him into action.

The touch was peculiar for both of them, and Eleni watched him with unbridled surprise. Sensing her discomfort, he pulled his hands away, one instinctively reached up to rub his neck, a nervous quirk he had never been able mask. He forced a tense laugh and tried to match her smile. He succeeded only in grimacing and felt more the fool for trying.

"My word, Cullen. Touching? _Smiling? _How the years have changed you!"

The barmaid returned and slapped Eleni's drink on the table. Neither noticed and continued throwing their hesitant, curious looks across the sea of wood.

"You are much the same as before." Cullen held his breath as she took a sip of her drink, releasing it in a deep sigh once she wriggled her lips agreeably. "You still touch everything in sight… I've always wondered if that's a mage thing."

"It's an Eleni thing."

He laughed and stroked his neck. "Quite right."

* * *

><p>"I… grew up in Honnleath," he muttered, staring down at his hands, feeling as though he was admitting his deepest, darkest secret, "did I ever tell you that?"<p>

"No, never, though I recall you said you _asked _to be taken by the Templars when you were very sma—"

"You _remember _that?" he spluttered in surprise, dribbling amber flecks of ale down his chin.

Eleni leaned back and observed him, weighing her options, judging the direction of the conversation. Over the joyful ruckus of the tavern, she appeared serene and collect, and as cold and distant as an Andraste statue. Cullen narrowed in on the faded white scar beneath her chin.

"_Oh this ugly thing," she chuckled and scrunched her nose, touching the purple and blue scratch threaded with fine stitching. "Didn't read up on the advanced properties of Elfroot. Glass went __**boom**__, I went __**argh**__, and bled all over Enchanter Irving's robes." _

"Why shouldn't I?" Without warning, she leant forward on her forearm, resting her weight there as she stretched a hand to his face, to the wet streaks of beverage that dangled forgotten on his chin. Affectionately – he recoiled from her touch at first – she dabbed at each individual droplet, staring with such concentration that creases emerged along her brow. Someone across the room whistled. Cullen knew it was for them. Propriety urged him to remove himself from her grasp, yet her tenderness rooted him to the spot.

When she exhaled, her cool breath prickled his skin. "We spent a portion of our lives together. Our paths intertwined. I was your charge. You were my… protector. There are things you don't forget."

"Protector?" Eleni moved away. Distance was established once more. "If you _failed _your Harrowing, or revealed an unwillingness to harness your magic, I would have—"

She pouted, and shook her flaxen hair. "No, I don't believe you would."

Her faith exasperated him. "I was wedded to the order, to the Chantry. My feelings for you on the matter were of no consequence." Swallowing became difficult, and the ale was gone. He hailed for more. "Before you left, I told you my mind had been made for me."

"Ah, yes. You would have _felt terrible_, as you put it, but there was no other way." She finished her drink as she spied the approaching round of ale. "That was a _memorable _conversation. Unfinished, but memorable."

"Pardon?" Cullen said, regretting his reply. Her demure smile turned his ears a fiery red. He knew what she was referring too. _Oh, my goodness… that would be really inappropriate..._

Thankfully, she took pity on him and directed the discussion elsewhere.

"Anyway, bygones be bygones and all that. Let's drink instead, to our happy reunion," she said and raised her glass. Cullen mimicked the motion and despite his reluctance to admit it, looked forward to what else the night entailed.

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><p><span><em>Teaser...<em>

"You lie!"

"I swear, by The Maker. Robes bunched around his knees, I caught him at full mast with a Dwarf kneeling-no, _standing_ right in front with the biggest smile on his face."


	4. Drinks Will Flow

**Author's notes:** Getting crunk in da club! Or, tavern. Cullen and Amell are joined by the Herald of Andraste!

**Warnings:** **SPOILERS** FOR **INQUISITION**... and all the other **DA** games

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><p>"When you were last here during the Blight, do you remember if you saw a statue – big, ugly thing, you would not be able to miss it, outside the town hall? I distinctly remember feeding birds beside it as a boy, but it's nowhere to be seen."<p>

"Statue? You mean Shale?"

"What's a _Shale_?"

"She's a Dwarf-turned-Gollum who served Paragon Caridin, defending the Thaigs from Darkspawn during the First Blight."

"A-pardon? Paragon Darkspawn?"

"Something like that. Last I heard she was travelling with Wynne – you remember Wynne don't you? Grandmother Mage, little bit scary?"

"Yes I do, but that's not what's troubling me. So… it wasn't a statue?"

"No."

"Right."

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><p>Hours drifted by. The tavern swelled and pulsed, shook with the patter of stumbling occupants that shifted in and out of the crisp night air. Eleni and Cullen remained on their isolated island, slumped over the wooden table with an increasing number of empty, frothy glasses as company. Cullen had removed his fur-lined throw and sat sweating in his undershirt, but was long past caring for his appearance.<p>

He pushed back tuffs of his fringe with damp hands, feeling the tendrils stick and slide over his palms. Beads of sweat lined his upper lip and he could feel his face flush with colour.

"You look _terrible,_" Eleni said to him, flapping the hem of her blouse to dissipate the heat.

"You don't look that lovely yourself, Eleni." The mage was disheveled, her mane of hair in moist clumps bunched around her shoulders. She routinely wiped her face with the edges of her cape, trying to subdue the steady stream of sweat.

"I look _great,_" she corrected and slumped back in her chair, bringing with her a half-finished pint of ale. She pressed the cold glass to her temple and gave a low moan. Cullen chuckled and ignored how his pants tightened at the sound.

"If you say so."

"I _do. _You don't get to be the King's mistress for no reason."

"I always wondered about you and Maric's son," he said, trying to mask the hint of disappointment in his voice. The revelation was not a shock to him – after all, it was apparent that Eleni was behind Alistair's sudden claim to the throne – nevertheless, the truth still stung. Even if she was never his, her belonging to another removed what remained of his idyllic fancies, his childlike beliefs in a pure and untouched First Love.

"A year travelling with a person under the direst circumstances makes one a little broody, don't you think?"

"On that note we find common ground. With Lucretia and I—" He stopped, blushed and remembered himself, reeling in his enthusiasm for the subject. "Maker we've had a lot to drink."

"Oh, don't change the subject," she pouted, "Two hours of hearing about my boring endeavours and so far, all I have learned is your sister continues to bother you, Skyhold is unnecessarily cold and you've caught a Dwarf and an Inquisition Mage going _at it _in the Barracks." Eleni wrinkled her nose in mock disgust. "These are hardly the details I've been fishing for. I want to know what it is like being Commander of the Inquisition. How you have dealt with the fame and praise, how—" She licked her lips and paused. Cullen caught the delicate twitch of her lip. "How you and _Lucretia _saved the world."

Cullen scoffed and stared down at the glass in his hand, mapping its flaws with unfocused eyes. "You've seen it all, done it all," he said. "You _are_ the Hero of Fereldan."

He had not meant to sound downcast. Perhaps the reminder of his duties and responsibilities irked him. Cullen was not sure. If he was, Eleni did not notice. She hooted and banged her fist on the table.

"I _was _the Hero of Fereldan. But that was ten years ago."

"You don't just _stop _being a hero, Eleni," he protested.

The Mage studied him carefully, a knowing, secret smile tugging at her lips. She cupped one cheek and leant against the table.

"That's where you're wrong, pet. You do. For _years_ I couldn't travel without being recognised. When I went down to the docks at Calanhad, to the Dales, across Orlais to Val Royeaux some unnamed soul was always there to greet me. 'Hero, Savior, Honourable Amell'… I thought there would never be an end to the titles. Then suddenly, the accolades stopped. Peace changes things, changes people – their perspectives, their needs, their gratitude. They forget it wasn't always like that. Then new problems come, new wars. My cousin, Hawke, is a Champion. I walk through Denerim with no shawl, no mask, and hear the crowd's excited chatter. 'Kirkwall's Hero, our new Defender.'"

She stopped and searched the mounds of heads, glancing at red-faced men and fair-skinned women with aimless precision.

"For a few years after the Blight, I was a Hero and perhaps, if scribes are good and the next King is fed stories of me as a babe, I'll be remembered in stone and paper. But they," she gestured at the unassuming crowds, "will not remember you forever. When times are good they have little need for false idols. The Maker is enough for most."

"I—I suppose."

Eleni chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.

"The ramblings of a former protagonist. Don't trouble yourself with my bitterness. I suppose I'm just... tired."

It was difficult for the conversation to progress. The pair sat in a mellow silence drinking ale while tending to private thoughts. Questions weighed on Cullen's mind ever since Eleni relayed her recent experiences wandering the beaten track of Thedas. He supposed now was the best – and perhaps only time – he could have them answered.

"As wonderful as it is to see you, Eleni, _why _are you here?"

"Can't we be after the same thing? A fruitful endeavour to get away from it all?"

"You've _just_ told me notoriety was no longer an issue for you," he chuckled. "I'm drunk, not senile."

Tending to her nails with erratic nips and picks, she answered his reprimand with silence, until Cullen's blasé glare became too poignant to ignore.

"I will tell you…" she answered softly, "_if _you tell me something first."

He took the bait with a heavy sigh.

"_All right. _I'll bite."

"Brilliant!" Her enthusiasm startled him, and staring into that eager face (counting the subtle freckles beneath the hint of a tan) felt regret roost in his gut. She played him like a fiddle.

"Tell me about the Inquisitor."

"Maker's _Breath, _that's not _fair_."

"Ah-ah. You _agreed _to the terms." She challenged him with a stern glower. Cullen was too drunk to deny her.

"Lucretia is…" he began, breaking out in a cold sweat, "she is the sunlight and moonlight rolled into one. She's like freshly baked cupcakes after a forty day fast." He blushed, smiled and felt the muscles in his arms shudder as Eleni made a face. He fought through the embarrassment.

"Sometimes I disapprove of her charisma – she is a shameless flirt with most of our immediate circle – but that is what drew me to her in the first place. Above her kindness and resourcefulness, she has a unique talent for making you feel like the most important person in the room. In a way, you share that in common."

"The Herald of Andraste does sound divine," Eleni cooed, finishing the remainder of her drink with a hearty gulp, her eyes fixed on something beyond Cullen's head.

His blush deepened. "She truly is. Impending doom can bring about some wonderful, unexpected changes." The goofy grin etched on Cullen's face slowly morphed into a frown. He looked towards the door, at the ebb and flow of customers heaving in and out.

"She is also inordinately late."

"I would say quite the opposite," Eleni said in a playful tone, "I'd say she has _impeccable_ timing."

The Commander's face fell further and his warm amber eyes flicked anxiously from side to side, wary of his dull senses and the ominous quality to Eleni's statement. Indistinct, but palpable, Cullen clung to that sixth sense: the prickle of skin, the eerie tingle that builds at the base of your spine.

"She's behind me, isn't she?"

* * *

><p>"Hello, Cullen."<p> 


	5. Author Interlude

Hi Everyone!

Thank you all so much for the glittering reviews, favourites and the like. It's always great to come back online and see that someone in the world took the time to read your work and leave a comment. :) No better feeling as a writer.

I am going to be starting work, so I don't think I will be updating _as _regularly, but I _will _update. Promise. I can't just leave this Amell/Inquisitor banter hanging, can I?

Dangy


	6. The Inquisitor Returns

**Author's notes:** MERRY XMAS EVERYONE, and HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL! A GIFT! I HAVE FINALLY HAD TIME TO WRITE. Sorry it has taken so long, but work is rather all encompassing, and last week I didn't have the energy to write. Fortunately I managed to get this all done after x-mas dinner. All the sugar and turkey must have given me the boost I needed.

So second-last chapter of the story (for now).

It's the one where...

Cullen wrongly assumes he's a catch.

While two heroines debate his romantic useless.

**Warnings:** **SPOILERS** FOR **INQUISITION**... and all the other **DA** games

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><p><em>Maker, if you truly exist, open a breach and let it swallow me whole.<em>

The Inquisitor chuckled behind him. Cullen pictured her smug, grinning face knotted in pleasure at his sappy revelations. He thought Lucretia looked like her sister, Mia after winning a game of chess. The resemblance prickled his skin and churned his stomach.

_I am going to throw up _he thought miserably and glanced at Eleni for comfort.

The mage watched him over the rim of her glass, taking deep sips of ale as she observed the scene with heavy-lidded eyes. Her enjoyment was palpable. Cullen could taste it.

"That was… very sweet, Cullen." Lucretia broke the silence with choice words and took a seat next to the former Templar. She avoided his bashful gaze and all but ignored the Commander's existence as she folded her arms on the table, which effectively shunted him into a corner. He stammered breathlessly as she took a sip from his drink, trying to formulate some verbal defence against her cool and unassuming demeanour. He floundered, and with a sigh resigned himself to whatever fate these women had in store for him.

"It is not often Cullen makes friends outside the barracks," Lucretia said with a secretive smile. She offered the mage her hand. "Lucretia Trevelyan."

Eleni glanced down at the gesture. Her eyes flickered with suspicion – or surprise.

The brief second where she seemed to consider whether she should take Lucretia's hand gave Cullen mild palpitations. Fortunately, she accepted it after a beat, and offered the inquisitor a winning smile and a firm shake. "Eleni."

Though Lucretia appeared amiable on the surface, Cullen noted the hesitation in her spontaneous laugh, the eyes that examined the mage with tempered curiosity.

"Eleni," she repeated, looking down while she considered the name, searching the worn woodwork for answers to her inner thoughts. Cullen bit his lip nervously as he watched the scene unfold, certain that Lucretia had recognised Eleni as the Hero of Fereldan, and more importantly, as his first love. He studied her features for signs of pain, embarrassment, or displeasure. It was hard to focus on her deadpan expression – harder yet with the mounting pressure in his bladder.

_Maker, I need a piss, but I can't leave these two alone. _

A low whine caught in his throat. A hand reached for his neck in a bid to lessen his desire to touch Lucretia, to hold her hand and trail feathery kisses along his wrist. He wondered if she was sad, if the introduction of another woman had incited some sort of subsumed feminine jealousy, like the kind Cassandra so often spoke with her girlish smiles, and large, hopeful eyes. Naturally, the Seeker's information came largely from the smutty, underselling novels Varric has written, nonetheless, Cullen questioned how much of it was rooted in reality. In his inebriated state, he was willing to assume that the wanton, envious creatures in Cassandra's books had feelings akin to his Inquisitor. To make matters worse, Eleni appeared entirely unaware of his internal conflict.

"It's the 'I go to bed at dusk and read Chantry books all night', face," Amell said, pulling a solemn face, attempting to mimic Cullen's unhappy glower and permanent scowl. "Who'd want to be friends with _that_."

_That's it, Eleni, _he thought, taking it upon himself to laugh at her crude impression. _Good idea. Make her feel comfortable. Maker knows how foul her thoughts must be of you, the other woman in my past. _

To his mounting surprise and pleasure, Lucretia gave a hearty laugh. "How glad I am to hear another say that. He doesn't understand the importance of a smile. Everyone would be much more amicable towards him if he didn't frown so." She looked over at him sympathetically and swept a hand over his thigh to lessen the bite of her words. Truthfully, he didn't mind, but feigned disappointment with a sullen face.

_It must hurt her somewhat to see me with another woman, _he thought, torn between feelings of sympathy and pride at the self-assured assumption that Lucretia's teasing comments were a sign of her masked jealousy.

_I will have to ease her concerns later. _With drunken confidence, he gave her knee an uncharacteristically bold squeeze. While holding a conversation with Eleni, she quickly brushed his hand aside.

"_So,_" she began, casting a stern, but concerned glance at Cullen before continuing. "What brings the _Hero _of Fereldan to Honnleath?"

"Oh, you _know. _The scenery. I do _adore _rustic, isolated towns on the wrong side of the Frostback." She offered Cullen a playful smile as she leant back against her chair. It groaned under her weight.

"Mm, much like us, it seems."

"Yes, so Cullen has informed me. It must be hard finding peace of mind as the Inquisitor, no?"

"I could say the same for you. After all, my legacy hasn't had ten years to ripen and grow."

Eleni's rolled back onto the back legs of her chair, and rocked in an easy rhythm too and fro.

"I am _surprised _you know who I am at first sight, _Inquisitor."_

"You know who I am, do you not?" Grinning, she glanced at Cullen before resting a hand briefly on his arm. He looked up, shaken from the haze of his drunken thoughts and smiled, and fished for conversation fragments to piece together what he had missed. "I am sure we have the same informant."

For the first time that evening, Eleni allowed her surprise to shine through her steadfast façade.

"Cullen told you about me?" She considered the proposition, her rocking hastening while she thought. She returned to a normal pace upon reviewing the information. "Even so, recognising the Hero from description only is _difficult_. What tipped you off?" At this, she waved her hand and gave a reassuring smile, recognising her prying sounded incessant. "Forgive me; I just hope that my identity isn't terribly discernable. Would be bad getting noticed by any passer-by."

"I completely understand," Lucretia said. "It wasn't clear who you were to start, nonetheless, Cullen has mentioned you in some depth—"

"I have _not_," the Commander interjected, spilling some of his drink down his chin in surprise. He wiped the downpour away with a brusque swipe. "You asked after her once, and I said—"

"She was _lovely_," Lucretia finished. He felt his blood curdle at her words, and reached up to hide the blush creeping along his ears. Eleni was laughing, and watched him with amusement. "No, no, he didn't say it quite so stoically," she Inquisitor added, clearing her throat with a cough before replicating Cullen's doe-eyed, distance expression. "_She was… lovely_." Despite the deafening din of the tavern, to Cullen, nothing was as thunderous as Eleni's pitched laughter, or Lucretia's resounding cackle. The two women giggled and spluttered, hiding their tonsils with splayed palms.

"He did _not_."

"By the Maker, he did. In truth, I cannot do the statement full justice. Those amorous tones are impossible to replicate."

Eleni smeared happy tears from her eyes, and sighed with content.

"And just from _that _you guess who I was?"

"Of course. We have _just _discussed this man's utter social ineptitude. When I first tried to court him, he was as skitty as Chantry girl. I paid him a compliment – said I liked his armour or what have you – and he said _thank you, _before informing me how many people we had lost in a snowstorm. I would have had more luck courting a dragon. Worst part is, Cullen says he _liked _me at the time." She snorted and rolled her eyes. "To see Cullen on such jovial terms with another woman can _only _mean it is you."

"I still have that beat," Eleni giggled, leaning across the table for emphasis. "The first time I asked this _one _to speak _privately _he _sprinted _from the hallway! _Sprinted! _Like a Mabari from a cold bath!"

Cullen wiggled down the chair and tried to ignore the increasing rivulets of sweat pooling at the base of his spine. His shirt was damp and clung uncomfortably to the curve of his shoulders and flattened against his skin as he breathed. Cassandra's green-eyed vixens were retreating with his growing sobriety. In this new light, he recognised that his own foolish notions of envy were misplaced. They were really just taking the piss, not for their own feelings jealousy, but because they had found mutual cause to do so. They had bonded over the love he had shown them and found cause to ridicule it. In the vast world of Thedas there were only two members of this club, and when partnered together, both women considered it a great opportunity to share stories on what they had learnt about the same man.

"Oh my love, I hope you don't mind this banter," Lucretia said, soothing his shoulders with a loving pat, noticing that Cullen had turned a frightening burgundy red. Out of the corner of his eye, the Commander saw Eleni rise from her chair, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. They both turned to watch the mage as she stretched and yawned.

"You're leaving so soon?"

Eleni smirked at Lucretia, before scanning the infinite sea of heads to mark the easiest path out of the tavern.

"Was meant to set off a few hours ago. The horse has had its rest, and so have I."

Lucretia nodded, but Cullen had not yet come to terms with the revelation. After enduring ridicule for over an hour, he had hoped there would be some reprise where they might all sit and catch up. Nonetheless, as usual, his social uselessness conquered his desires, and he could only sit and stare dumbly as she gathered her affairs and dropped coins on the table.

After kissing the Inquisitor affectionately on the cheek, Eleni grasped his shoulder and squeezed. As she drew away, he caught her hand and pulled. She waited patiently for him to gather his words. They failed him once more.

"Try and… stay in touch."

He saw her face fall with disappointment. He didn't need to see her lips pucker and eyes drop to know that what he said was inconsequential. Cullen felt it himself. Still, he watched her saunter from the tavern all the same, motionless and unsatisfied.

"You were right," Lucretia said soon after. "She _is_ lovely."

Cullen licked his lips and stiffly turned to look at Lucretia, whose face was warm and forthcoming. "So…" he whispered. "You are _not _upset about _her?_"

"For having a crush on your charge? By the Maker, Cullen. I do not ask that my lovers come wrapped in a seal of chastity." She brushed back the sweat from his brow before pressing a finger affectionately against his nose. She scrunched hers in turn. "At least now I know you only fall for women of quality. It is a comforting notion."

Cullen smiled, but his mind was elsewhere. He looked back towards the door in hopes of catching another glimpse of the mage. Of course, Eleni had already slipped away into the night. Lucretia's cold fingers against his bicep returned his attention to her. When their gazes met, he tried to mask his disappointment, the pent up guilt riddled across his features.

"Go say what needs to be said. I know your last meeting was hurtful – and I know you well enough to assume it was not resolved tonight." She removed her hand and looked towards the collection of empty glasses, and fished for an unfinished one. "I give you leave to go."

Cullen pressed a kiss to her temple and retreated from the table. His restrained walk quickly morphed into a march. Before he even reached the door he was jogging, pushing past people with polite apologises. For the first time in a long while, Cullen felt like a Templar, chasing after an apostate fleeing in the dark.


	7. A Mage and a Templar

**Author's Notes:** We're almost there...

* * *

><p>"Wait!"<p>

Cullen had not meant for the request to sound like an order, but it did. Brusque and loud, the bellow echoed across the peaceful town centre. Eleni looked round from the horse she tended, her hand darting up and down the beast's long neck in an attempt to soothe it. The sound had clearly startled them both.

"Cullen?"

The former Templar slowed to a halt a few paces from her. In his damp cotton undershirt, the cold was biting, and the thin film of sweat that coated his body chilled him to the bone. He stood awkwardly, nursing his exposed wrists with delicate, timid touches while he shuffled from one foot to the other. Eleni finished strapping the saddle on her horse before walking to Cullen, closing the gap further. Watching one another, their unsynchronized breaths clouded the air between them.

"I—you—" Cullen swallowed against the growing knot in his throat. He wasn't certain of his intentions, and had not rehearsed what he wanted to say (though years ago he made letters, eulogies and songs for this moment, none of his old words came back to him.)

He wanted a lead in, some way to address how the years had changed him since they parted; how mages no longer kept him up at night, how the curse of lyrium no longer dogged his steps. When he considered the years, Cullen could not source them. They lay in anachronistic, scattered heaps – memories of flayed mages and Kirkwall and death; King Alistair's coronation; Lucretia in his arms; Samson's brilliant smile and resounding laughter. In that instant he wanted her to _know _him as people will never know each other, hear his inner most thoughts, see the nightmares that have ebbed away in his mind, and shaped him into the man he is today. Cullen thought she should know these things, or what he said would not be meaningful; his apology would not right what had been wrong.

In the end, he could only grasp at the simplest straws.

"I—I'm sorry."

"For what?" Eleni said softly, her gaze shifting from his as she spoke, focusing on the indistinct landscape around them. After a moment, she sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands balled into tight fists by her sides. "If you're talking about what happened at the Circle—"

"It's not just that," Cullen interrupted. "I am sorry for not _seeing_ you for what you were. When we met I was young, drunk on Templar lore and tales of gallantry. I loved the Maker the Chantry, and the Order, and I loved you, but I had no idea how to love each in turn. You were a mage, and caring for you should have opened my eyes to the injustice you endured. I kept them closed, _pretended _I knew what love was when they forced the harrowing upon you and I resigned myself to my duties. I loved you so much I would kill you without hesitation, or would watch as they turned you tranquil."

Cullen paused for breath and shivered. Eleni had fixed her gaze on the floor.

"I am sorry I did not take your offer to talk," he said, and prayed the sight of his flushed cheeks were lost in the darkness. "I wish I had gotten the chance to know you better, that I didn't believe in the Chantry's teachings so feverously that intimacy became impossible. Perhaps if I had seen the light—learnt something of you that was beyond The Order, beyond the binaries of mages and Templars, I would not have..."

The sky overhead was dotted with bright stars. Cullen looked to them for council as he replayed those awful memories in fragmented, blurred cuts, woven together by timeless seams. Though much of what had been said at the Circle was lost, and the faces of her companions merely dark faces in the gloom, Eleni's crestfallen expression was always clear as day. Rubbing the cold from his forearms, Cullen shivered as he sighed, and willed what remained of his apology into words.

"I'm sorry for what I said the last time we met."

He glanced fleetingly at Eleni, saw her twisted lips, and furrowed brow. She was staring at his chest. Her shoulders fell unevenly as she breathed.

"What the mages did—what you endured. Your rage and horror were natural."

"Yes, but they should not have been directed at you. The things I said were unkind, untoward. I would have been dead, like the rest of the Templars, if it wasn't for you. I—I was just too blind to see it, too _indoctrinated _by the Chantry's fear and hate to make my own judgment. Eleni, I—"

He noticed her hands on his chest before the kiss. He traced the hot pads of her fingertips as they widened against him, and moved to grasp the loose fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. Her tongue wriggled into his mouth with an urgency that shocked him, rooted him to the wet mud beneath his boots. He tried to breathe; he tried to speak, but only managed to entwine his tongue with hers.

It was over as soon as it started. Cullen held his breath long after the mage pulled away and strolled back towards her horse, wordless, but smiling. Caught in a dazed stupor, he stood and observed her, his fingers curling to his lips to touch the wetness that lingered there.

As Eleni clunked and shuffled her things – whispered secretive, quiet words to her horse – he came to terms with the mounting distress that boiled at the base of his gut. His body was alight with worry—worry sparked by the electricity of her kiss, the senseless resolve she abandoned in that one gesture. It was a goodbye kiss, an ending kiss—her final farewell.

"You promised—"he said, still unsure how to formulate a coherent, complete sentence. "You promised you would tell me why you are here, why you're travelling alone."

From the way she gathered herself – checking the bridle incessantly, digging through her rucksack – Cullen assumed she would forgo the inquiry entirely, leave him with a kiss and an unanswered question on the jagged knoll in Honnleath. To his delight, and swelling apprehension, she turned around, her duties forgotten. Her teeth gleamed at him through the dark.

"I'm dying."


	8. So Long, Farewell

**Author's notes:** I am so sorry it took so long to get back to this. Work has been crazy, and to boot I've been quite sick over the last few weeks!

**Warnings:** **SPOILERS** FOR **INQUISITION**... and all the other **DA** games

* * *

><p>A gentle breeze rocked the trees and sent rivers of leaves adrift. Eleni returned to her horse and caressed it thoughtfully with long, languid strokes.<p>

Cullen swayed where he stood, felt his boots shudder deeper into the mud. In spite of this new information, he felt relatively calm though the blood in his ears coursed louder than before.

"We're all dying," Cullen said. "As soon as you're born it's a certain descent in that direction."

Eleni squared her shoulders, laughed into her hand and offered a deep, world-weary sigh. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled, but failed to suppress her quivering lips. Cullen felt his heart tighten in his chest.

"You're right, but some of us get pushed to the front of the line."

"But—you're young. You look—" he searched her bright eyes and angular face, noting that apart from the hint of crow's feet and the subtle grooves of her smile lines, war and time had barely touched her. In this light he couldn't panic, couldn't muster the dread and apprehension he knew he should feel when faced with this kind of news. The sight of death ratted his heart and chilled his blood - skewed bodies, brittle old men, and children with deep coughs and wheezy breaths. When you could see death's hand and taste its presence as it hovered over the sick and wounded, Cullen was always touched with anguish. He hated seeing people teeter on the brink between this world and the next. Eleni however, showed none of these signs. This knowledge kept him from despair.

"You look healthy; I can't understand what illness afflicts you when there are no physical signs."

Eleni hoisted herself onto her horse, giving a low grunt as the mount jittered from side to side, angrily snorting while it pawed the ground. The mage tugged at the reins to steady her steed.

"I have a hero's sickness," she answered him. Her voice was quiet, but in her eyes, Cullen saw the steel of her resolve. "Wardens do not live long lives. The Calling claims us all."

He remembered the episodes at Adamant Fortress, the fleet of helpless Wardens convinced of their imminent death. Cullen considered the possibility of a ruse – another false manifestation created by some other, hidden evil. As he pondered, Eleni's delicate laughter shook him from his musings.

"It's the real one this time," she said, reading this thoughts. "It begun with nightmares, while I was still in the Capital with Alistair. Over two years ago now. Nightmares, and cold sweats and fearful whispers from dark, infinite places with no light, no end. At first they were terrible, but now…" she cajoled the horse forward a few steps, towards Cullen. "Now there are fewer nightmares, and sweeter songs – songs that grow louder and sweeter with each passing day."

Eleni frowned and gazed hard at Cullen for a few moments. An uneasy chill raced down his spine and raised his hackles.

"Then I suppose, the King as well—"

The mage grimaced and fixed her gaze on the horizon. The knuckles around her reins were white as alabaster.

"Alistair became a Warden a little before me, but when my dreams came and I asked if he had been feeling fine, he smiled and told me he had been. He told me everything was perfect. Clearly, he had already resigned himself to the Calling." Eleni swallowed and scanned the hills, the rickety rooftops, and the dim haze of smoke that filtered up from towering chimneys.

"I will find a way to fix this," she told him darkly, with iron resolve bound to her words. "I have not defeated an Archdemon to succumb to an empty death in the deep roads. I will not let Alistair choose such an 'honourable' end, either. We will fight. We will survive."

"You sound so certain," Cullen said sadly, watching his shoes shuffle in the mud. When he looked up, Eleni met him with a fond expression, her lips in a lopsided smile.

"Have a little faith in me, my dear Templar. I've done more with less."

"Yes, I suppose you have." He smiled best he could, but the muscles in his face gave way to rampant spasms. He conceded to his mounting despondency and watched her with concern, with the knowledge that this could be their last meeting.

"When all this is over," she began in a trembling voice, "I'll find you. I feel as though Lucretia and I still have much to talk about, as do we." She persevered with a smile and tapped her horse's flanks with her heels. The mount trotted slowly towards Cullen, and passed him with a few jittery steps. He turned to watch her leave, over rolling knolls and cobblestone streets. He could hear the crunch of the horse's hooves as it manoeuvred onto gravel paths, and soon, could only see a shifting dark form on the horizon. Long after she had disappeared from view, Cullen still watched, still waited; willing her to come back over the bend of the earth.

He shivered in his undershirt, and wrapped his arms across his chest. In the cool night breeze he felt his recent drunkenness seep from his system, leaving confusion and irritation in its wake. He decided to return to Lucretia, and stalked back towards the tavern, stumbling and slipping through the wet grit.

Lucretia hovered near the entrance, his cloak a jumble of rags in her arms. She didn't notice his arrival and continued to people-watch with a distance, thoughtful gaze. Only when Cullen gently nudged her side did she swivel round to meet him, her features taught with alarm before giving way to a soft smile.

"Everything alright?" he asked her, perplexed by the way she had stood and watched the crowds. He peered round her head to their table, spotting the little slivers of coin piled by the empty glasses. "You've already gotten the tab?"

She feigned a yawn and blinked up at him wearily, one hand lifted to wrap around his forearm.

"Today's Inquisitor duties have tired me beyond measure, Cullen. Instead of wading back into town, can't we find some inn in Honnleath to rest for the night?"

He studied her face for a few moments before relenting, too weary himself to avidly search for signs of discontent in his partner. Cullen rubbed the side of his face and nodded. He led her through the tavern door, and kissed her warm cheek as she passed. Lucretia giggled like a young maid at the gesture, but her eyes were cold and unlaughing.

* * *

><p>"Oh that's so <em>romantic<em>," Cassandra breathed, the warrior's rich amber eyes alight with glee and wonder.

Lucretia shrugged. "Well, it was _only _a kiss—"

"No, not you. This _Hero of Fereldan _and your _Cullen. _Their relationship is so tragic – so short-lived. I am surprised you did not know of their love sooner."

Lucretia swallowed against the expanding knot in her throat, and contemplated fleeing the conversation before Cassandra became too captivated by her partner's previous romance.

"I—I did. Cullen mentioned it once, which is why I asked him to go and speak with her when she decided to leave," she glanced out the window of her chambers in Skyhold, following the dips and dives of a falcon that perused the overcast skies with effortless mastery. "But…"

"But you regretted the decision immediately and followed him," Cassandra said exasperatedly, evidently familiar with this kind of scenario from the many smutty novels she had encountered in her time. "I do not blame you – I would have done the same – and that is when you saw them kiss, non?"

Lucretia grimaced. "Yes, well, _she _kissed him and he just stood there awkwardly."

"But he didn't stop her?"

"No, he didn't stop her," Lucretia snapped. She regretted the outburst immediately and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. Cassandra waited patiently for her to continue, reeling in her enthusiasm for the moment.

"Do you think it means anything?"

"This one-off kiss? The Hero vanished soon after, yes? That is the end of it, if any of Varric' books hold any truth."

"That's comforting…" the Inquisitor managed with a half-hearted smile. "Anyway, it is of little consequence. I just wanted to confide in someone about what happened. It does not worry me, as I thought it would, however it is nice to get it off one's chest."

"I understand."

Lucretia patted her on the shoulder and stalked down the narrow flight of stares down towards Josephine's office. A few moments after, Cassandra followed the same direction, but made a beeline for Varric's room instead.


	9. Author Interlude Part 2

Hello Followers!

Hope you've all been spiffy, and apologies for not writing sooner. I'm currently managing a website and digital magazine, so time for writing outside of work has been limited. I hope that sometime soon I'll get the chance to write the next installment of the story :3.

Stay tuned for Varic and Cassandra banter, Inquisition and Cullen love (and hate ^.^) and perhaps a visit from everyone's favourite king...

Love,

D


	10. Once Upon a Dream

**Authors notes:** Managed to squeeze one chapter in! And off to bed! *collapses*

**Warnings**: Game spoilers!

* * *

><p>"'I'm dying", she tells him, and in a heartbeat he embraces her in his strong arms." Cassandra paused for effect, and curled her hands around her waist as if trying to replicate the vivid image in her head. Her eyes were light and distant, half-lidded as she peered into the nothingness above Varric's head.<p>

Framed by the soft morning light that filtered in through Skyhold's tall, tinted windows, even the dwarf could admit Cassandra had a romantic beauty about her. The faded white scars and stern glower were for a moment, forgotten, supplanted by a coy simper and indistinct, faraway look. He shuffled in his seat and glanced across the upper-floor of the tavern where they sat.

This early in the day it was devoid of most company, save the serving girl, a barmaid, and a quiet lute player who nursed his apparent hangover with a mug of warm milk. Robbed of its usual noise and busyness, empty morning taverns gave Varric the opportunity to write outside the four walls of his room, without having to suffer prying eyes or societal clamour. His eyes wandered over the half-finished glass of ale, mapping the froth that clung unevenly to the walls of its container. _Writing in an empty tavern sure makes getting pissed a hell'a lot easier, too, _he thought, and smiled absentmindedly.

"So, what do you think?" came Cassandra's sharp tones biting through his pleasant thoughts. Gone were her fleeting affectionate expressions and, dare he say it, feminine charms. Varric continued to grin, but gave his undivided attention to avoid encouraging an argument.

"A little dramatic—worthy of a Dalish tragedy in fact, but who doesn't love a bit of extremism in romance? The Orlesians readers would love it." He scratched his chin and considered the glass for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I think it could work. Reminds me of a piece I did way back—story between a peasant girl and a Fereldan knight—I'm sure you've read it, it's one of my poorly executed smut-novels—ah, ah, don't beat me, woman! Anyway, illicit romances are always big sellers."

Varric nursed the arm Cassandra batted with an indignant sigh. Despite her earlier outburst, Pentagast's mood improved instantly.

"Yes, I think it would be splendid—you _must _write it, Varric."

"Whoa, wait! Me? Why me?" He shot her a pained look and returned to his ale, which at this point had become warm and unpleasant. "This is _your _idea, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it needs to be written by—" she paused and considered her words, her hand whisking the air as she scanned her brain for options; encouraging words that wouldn't inflate his ego too much, Varric assumed.

"It's needs to be written by someone who's familiar with this kind of fiction. A person who can capture the misfortune of these star-crossed lovers and do the genre justice." Cassandra shrugged and looked out over the landing towards the few shuffling occupants below in hopes of appearing nonchalant. She wrinkled her nose and watched him from the corner of her eye, tracking his expression.

Varric sighed, cupped his jaw in one hand and reclined against the table, aloof.

"You really want me to write it, Seeker?"

"Yes, it would… be wonderful if you did."

He pursed his lips, attempted to hold her gaze and gave another heavy sigh when he failed. Praise from Cassandra always won him over in the end.

"Alright, _alright, _I'll write your bleeding book," he grumbled, and hopped off the high chair with a grunt. The silverware and mug shuddered and rang with a dull murmur. Cassandra clasped him eagerly on the shoulder, a gesture that nearly forced the dwarf to double-over. The warrior gave no notice and over his groan and grumble came her lucid peals of laughter.

"Marvelous! I cannot wait to read it, Varric. As soon as you've written the first chapter, I _demand _to see it!" she called to him as he trotted down the winding stairscase, desperate to evade Cassandra's overbearing enthusiasm.

"No previews, sister." As he yelled back his reply, Varric stopped, and lumbered up the steps again, stopping when the tip of Cassandra's head reappeared behind the banister.

"Seeker?"

"Yes, Varric?" she practically sing-songed.

"Where'd you get the idea? I mean, Templars and mages I understand given your background—but why throw in a King in there? That's rather outlandish stuff."

Varric saw Cassandra turn her head towards the windows. The tuffs of her cropped hair flickered in the breeze and gleamed silver in the light. Her voice was strained and quiet, barely audible over the creaking wooden tavern and whispering wind.

"I don't know. It came to me in a dream."


	11. Winter Blues

**Author's Notes:** An update on the Cullen x Inquisitor relationship! How would you guys feel if you saw your significant other smooching an ex? As harmless as it might appear, would you feel insecure or accept it as a moment and get on with your life? Tell me your thoughts in the comments! I'd love to hear how my followers would have responded to the event.

**Warnings:** **SPOILERS** FOR **INQUISITION**... and all the other **DA** games.

* * *

><p>The sky overhead was a white blanket—seamless, vast and singular. Lucretia imagined it might snow sometime this week.<p>

The Inquisitor lowered her gaze from the window and rubbed her eyes with her thumb and index finger. In her burgundy overalls and thin socks, she shivered. Fatigue and general disregard for the temperature kept her rooted to her seat.

Again, she turned her eyes to the courtyard of Skyhold, watched hooded occupants in thick woollen shawls and cumbersome coats scuttle like ants in and out of her line of sight. Draped in a brilliant silver cloak, Lucretia saw Vivienne stalk purposefully in the direction of the castle gates. Sera and Ironbull were making their way towards the tavern. Having sat in this spot since midday, Lucretia had seen most of her party members pass unknowingly beneath her. _Most_.

Lucretia's gaze fell on the Commander's tower. The frosted windows were small and indistinct against the staggered grey brick wall; however, she could still make out the amber glow of candlelight gleaming from Cullen's office. Throat tightening, she looked away and resumed her absentminded observation of the bowels of Skyhold.

A few months had passed since their momentous evening in Honnleath, but life for the Inquisitor continued to feel critically unhinged by what developed there.

Lucretia sighed and cradled her legs to her chest, her breath a pale mist. She returned unchanged, albeit a little conflicted over Eleni's private farewell. However, bit by bit the confidence and security she barricaded herself with began to wear. Doubt and worry made daily visits, transforming intimate moments into panic-ridden affairs. Her trust for Cullen wavered. In his demure smile, she saw misgivings; in his tone, she heard the timbre of uncertainty. When they kissed, she pictured them kissing; when they touched, his warm fingers felt like icy ridges against her skin. Yet when he asked what bothered her, with flitting eyes and deep frowns, she answered his concern with a smile and rehearsed lie. _Nothing. _

Lucretia shuffled. Her arse was numb, her legs frozen. Cullen had all but stopped his prying. He seldom visited her, but when he did, their conversations were polite, pleasant and short; his farewell kisses as dry and chaste as those between siblings.

Heart throbbing in her chest, she searched for the window of the Commander's tower. The candlelight had gone. With a frown, she considered how long it had been since he left the office.

The door to her room creaked as it opened. Lucretia bolted to her feet and internalised a groan as her body adjusted to the new position after being seated for so long. Cullen's form seemed to grow from the stairwell, each resolute step revealing more of the Commander's broad shoulders, tousled hair, firm waist and shapely legs. Clad in his traditional furry frock, tight black trousers and matching fitted shirt, he was a vision as always. He did not seem to register her at first, and stared dumbly through Lucretia as he approached—lost in thought and unaware of her indignant expression. When he escaped his reverie, his gaze was soft, but apprehensive, like a child greeting a distant aunt he had not seen in years.

"Lucretia."

"You've left your quarters early today," she said.

He inched closer and folded his arms across his body. Glancing around the room, Cullen let out a quivering breath.

"Maker, how do you _sleep _in here? It's cold as a dungeon."

"I don't mind." Lucretia glanced at the pile of fur throws and goose-down duvets sprawled across her unmade bed. "It's warm enough for me."

"I shall ask the carpenter and stonemason to look for cracks and holes. Feels like there's a draught coming in from somewhere."

"It's fine, really. In any case, why are here so soon?"

Cullen stopped a few paces from her, surprise and hurt skimming across his expression for an instant. The frown he wore deepened and he scratched his neck while choosing his words.

"We're meant to be having dinner tonight, remember? Varric's Wicked Grace night—or Josephine's rob Cullen blind night as I see it."

Lucretia made a face. Varric's monthly charades had slipped her mind, and the thought of spending an evening with all of them failed to delight.

"I don't know, Cullen. I've been feeling a little off today," she pouted, glanced up with him with sad eyes and gave a mellow shrug.

The Commander removed the gloves from his hands and felt her cheek and forehead. Lucretia studied his face and supressed a smile as his features contorted with concern. His cheeks, flushed from cold, were rosy; his lips dry and textured. When he noticed her prying eyes, he gave a closed-mouth smile and cupped her jaw.

"You're fit as a fiddle, Lucretia. It's just the winter blues."

"Yes, perhaps you're right," she conceded and relaxed into his touch. The moment was short-lived. When she closed her eyes, the memory of _them _kissing resurfaced; warped images of frantic lips and passionate embraces blitzed across her mind. Lucretia stiffened and withdrew with a weak smile. She headed towards the bed.

"If we're going to be up all night I suppose I'll have a cat nap. No use coming if I'm going to be half-asleep, don't you think?" Lucretia forced a laugh and slid onto the mattress, eyes sifting through the threads, textures and colours of her blankets. When she looked up, Cullen was watching her awkwardly; lips parted as if ready to speak. With a flush, Lucretia realised he was waiting for an invitation to join her.

"I'll see you in the dining hall then?" she said meekly.

If Cullen was disappointed, he did not let it show. With an amicable smile, he nodded, straightened and headed towards the stairwell. Lucretia counted his steps as they echoed down the corridor into nonexistence. Assured she was alone, she returned to her windowsill to gaze at the tiny window of Cullen's office. When he entered, the candle on his desk was relit. Lucretia watched the flame until sleep finally claimed her.


End file.
